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There once was a guy named Kyle, Who did things with his very
own style, It didn't matter what you'd say, He'd do it his own
way, And it'd pob'ly end up making you smile.
I asked
him if I could put him in a story, He said only if it was scary and
gory, If I made him look wussy, He'd make me eat pussy, Then
he'd get me drunk and dress me all whory.
I promised
to make him look tough, Not mean, but manly and rough, He said
that'd be okay, As long as he was still gay, And he didn't look
like a wimpy powder-puff.
So on a story I started to
work, I made him tough, but not like a jerk, But as the story
came in, Kyle came to his own end, Leaving me alone and terribly
hurt.
Now the world is so cold, My heart has turned
to stone, The story remains undone, The words just no longer come,
And an eagle soars home alone.
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